are you lost?

saturday night, i went to a bar called stoney's with my friends alison and gwen. stoney's is a country bar. at some points, people will go on the dance floor and two step, and other songs are reserved for line dancing. they do play top 40 toward the end of the night, but it's mostly country. i like country, and gwen and alison will tolerate it, plus it's got cheap drinks and the guys there are generally pretty respectful. they come over and ask you to dance, but the dancing is two-stepping. not dry humping.

we had a fun time. gwen was hit on several times, but they were all really awkward. the first guy came over with a friend to talk to us, and we ended up playing beer pong with them, and when we were done, he asked gwen if she needed a ride home. now, that's just about the most awkward pick up line ever. plus, he was way more intoxicated than any of us. AND, he had plenty of opportunies to check out her wedding ring during our hour of beer pong. she politely told him that she had a ride home (with me) and wouldn't be needing his services that night. any of them. (yeah, i went there)

the second guy just walked up and asked her, "why do you look so uptight?" now let me explain something about gwen: she is a hater. she'll tell you. she's okay with it. so, when this guy asks her why she's uptight, in true hater fashion, gwen replies "because i'm married and have a kid." he went on his merry way after that.

i was mostly surprised by some of the clientele. you think, country bar equals cowboy hats and big belt buckles. i know that's a stereotype, and there were quite a few guys in just regular jeans and shirts, but there were two revelers that i really struggled to make fit into my paradigm of this country bar. stranger #1 had on airwalk-type sneakers, cut-off cargo shorts (they very well could have been dickies), a button-down plaid short sleeve shirt, long hair in a ponytail, and a long chin-beard. if i had seen him at a grateful dead concert i wouldn't have looked twice. but he was in a country bar. i wanted to go up and explain that it was called stonEY's, not stonER's. i didn't though. i wanted to avoid being punched. i'm too pretty for black eyes.

there were also several white gangsters there, and i couldn't even figure out a possible name confusion to explain their presence.

oh, and the bouncer was AT LEAST 7 feet tall. and a woman. i have never seen a woman that tall in my life.

first day of school tomorrow! off to bed.

this is august 18. day 7.

the most wonderful time of the year?

i went back to the gym today for the first time in...a while, and i'm too tired to really do a real blog. so, here are some pictures of my classroom:

the first one is about as close to bulletin board land as i get. the blank side is where i post the bell schedule, usernames and passwords for turnitin.com (a program that checks for plagiarism) and other important info) and on the right side i put up fun facts. i have my student aide change them about once a month. i try not to touch the bulletin board. also, next to the clock i have a sign that i inherited from my grandma that says "this sign signifies absolutely nothing at all. it merely exists to take up space and waste the reader's time." the best part is that since it's by the clock, most students read it every day, and then i've wasted their time. i figure it makes up for all of my time they waste with poorly written essays.

the second (and i'll take a moment now to apologize for my screwed-up formatting--i don't know how to fix it so the text surrounds every picture. if anyone does know, help a sister out) is my desk area, or as i like to call it, "the holy of holies." students ARE NOT allowed behind my desk under any circumstances (unless they're a student aide), and when they ask why not, i can simply respond with, "you're not the right priest and it's not the right day." unfortunately, only my jewish students and the really hardcore christians get it.

picture number three is the view from my classroom door. the door at the back goes into our department workroom, which means i have easy access to the bathrooms, copy machine, fridge and microwave. score! the whiteboard is on the same wall as the door, so you can't see it, but a whiteboard in the summer is pretty boring--there's not much to write on there with no students.

the last picture is something new i did this year. last year, on one of the last days of school, i had each student take a piece of cardstock and complete this sentence: "I wish someone had told me..." it was their chance to offer advice to my future students with little bits of info that would have made my class easier. now, some of the ones they turned in were stupid, and some were about life (i don't think those kids understood what i was asking for), but most of them were good. there were a lot along the lines of "read everything ms. nolan assigns, because there will be a quiz," "vocab quizzes count for more than you think and you need to study," and my personal favorites that had to do with "ms. nolan wins." i put all of those up today so they can see it when they come in on the first day.

also in the last picture is my collection of toys that sit on my book case. they're always shocked that i have a justin timberlake puppet from the No Strings Attached album, but i think they're mostly jealous. the other stuff is mostly random gifts from students: a hippie nutcracker from my student aide because, according to her "she needed to buy it for someone and she knew i'd appreciate it," a russian doll from one of my russian students, an abominable snowman (who growls when you press his stomach), the trophy i dropped on my foot, resulting in a broken toenail that still hasn't grown back (it happened a year ago). most of the debate trophies stay in the head coach's room, but the president last year said she had enough trophies, and this one had special meaning to me. also is the BFF pillow from the same kid, because we decided we were "besties" last year at a tournament.

so, this might be the most boring post ever. sorry. maybe tomorrow i can post lesson plans! that'd be exciting! adriane - if you really want me to, i can throw one of those tests up there. maybe i will. any requests? The Scarlet Letter? Huck Finn? Brave New World? In Cold Blood? Death of a Salesman? The Crucible? The Great Gatsby? Transcendentalism? Or I could just put some final exams up there. Let me know. (ha! now you have to comment! and i can see who is actually reading this. because i can just call sean and gwen to tell them these things...)

today is august 17. day 6

"Voici mon secret. Il est très simple : on ne voit bien qu’avec le coeur. L’essentiel est invisible pour les yeux."

i'm just now learning to see things with the heart, and here's something i've started to see recently: i have some really amazing friends. they are people who truly like me for who i am,
who are always eager to spend time with me and listen to what i have to say,
who never judge me,
who don't keep me around merely for the things i can do for them,
who are willing to do favors,
who are willing to go out of their way for me,
who aren't embarrassed by me when i act like a fool,
who aren't embarrassed by me, period.

i'm not always a good friend. if we're friends, you know by now that i will never remember your birthday. i'll probably forget to call or email for several months. i will forget your new last name when you get married.

but.

there are some things i'm really good at. i'll remember stupid things like the name of your neighbor's cat who scratched you in the face when you were three, leading to your ensuing fear of cats. and neighbors. i'll know the contents of your closet, and be able to tell what articles of clothing you like to wear the most. i'll go shopping and wait while you try on four pair of the same pants to find the ones that fit best. i'll help you move. i'll help you paint. i'll help babysit your kids. i'll take you out for a drink when you've had a bad day.

i'm starting to realize that some of the friends i've made over the past few years aren't willing to do the same for me. i have some friends who seem to like me because of what i can do for them, not because they want to hang out with me. i don't get invited to things. i'm not included. i'm not sure they actually like me.

and if you know anything about my self-esteem issues or insecurities, the main one is that i have trouble believing that people like me.

so, for those of you who i've been a bad friend to, i'm sorry. it's something i'm going to work on in the next few months, because i know what it's like to be cast aside. i'm going to email and call more. i'm going to try to remember your married names. i'm going to ask about your kids/husbands/boyfrieds/pets/favorite sports teams/whatever else is important to you when i talk to you.

don't be surprised if i still forget your birthday though.

ps: here's the translation for that quote: And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.

this is august 16. day 5.

birth control

i started taking birth control about three and a half months ago. i hate it. i'm going to expound on that particular sentiment for a while.

1. i feel like a deviant. i feel like i need to explain to everyone that i'm not taking it for actual birth control, because my sex life is non-existant and i have no need to keep myself from getting pregnant. most of my friends know i'm a virgin, and so when it comes up, they ask, "why are you on birth control?" which leads to an awkward converstation about my *cough* cycle. we'll leave it at that.

2. i frequently forget to take it. if the whole point of being on birthcontrol is to regulate my...cycle, then not taking the pill every third day can't be good for any supposed regularity. last night, i went to take it, and realized i hadn't taken any pills since monday. yesterday was friday. i'm sure it's good to take four pills at once too. it's not that it's a hassle--it takes three seconds to swallow a pill that's smaller than a breathmint. i just forget. i forget to brush my teeth most nights, and i've been doing that since i was three. 90 or so days is not enough time to ingrain that particular habit.

3. it costs money! when i went to get my first pack, it was free. i figured "hooray!" my prescription plan covers this--it's free! nope. the first two were free. now it's $20 a month. $20! for a prescription that i'm not even using for it's prescribed purpose! i could be spending that money on shoes! or beer! or ANYTHING BUT A USELESS PRESCRIPTION.

4. HORMONES. let me explain a couple things about me. i am not super emotional. well, that's not true. i'm emotional, but not typical female emotions. i get angry a lot. i get impatient. frustrated. BUT i don't cry. i generally cry about two times a year, and usually when i'm frustrated or angry. i don't cry at movies. i don't cry when i talk about sad events. i don't cry at commercials, or anything with the name "nicholas sparks" on it. i was annoyed by the notebook, not touched. (i kind of wanted to "touch" his face with my fist, but that's another rant...) now that i'm on birth control, it's like the estrogen express has barrelled its way into my thyroid, or pituitary, or spleen, or whatever part of my body produces hormones. maybe my uterus. actually, yes--it feels like my uterus is controlling my reactions. i have cried, almost cried, choked up, or had tears come to my eyes at least FIVE TIMES in the last month alone. it's incredibly frustrating. i feel like my emotions are just completely out of control. i started crying a church both today and last week. i've never been an "emotional believer." i usually scoff at people who cry each sunday (0r saturday, in my case), and now i'm one of them! i've become something that i used to take plaeasure in mocking. ugh.



i feel better.

i have to admit, there are a few upsides:
1. my, um, cycle is, um, easier to deal with.
2. i know exactly when it's going to happen.
3. i think that's it.

so. birth control. really kind of annoying when you're not actually trying to keep yourself from getting pregnant. if i end up pregnant, it means i'm going to be giving birth to the son of God. and that's SO been done. and i'm guessing, that if God wanted to redo that thing (which i don't see happening), i'm not the one he'd choose. just sayin'.

today is august 15. day 4

productivity

i'm intrigued by the idea of productivity. is this an american obsession? sitting down to read a book, or watch a movie--that's considered unproductive. today, i sat on my bottom and watched tv from 11am to 4pm. i caught up on a british tv show that i had missed a few episodes of, i crocheted and made some progress on my current project, and most people would consider it a waste of a day. i thoroughly enjoyed my day. i love the tv show, and i felt like i got something done. i didn't do any lesson planning and i didn't go hiking and i didn't clean my bathroom, but i enjoyed myself. isn't that more important?

i don't feel like i'm wasting time if i do any of those other things, but in the long run, are they any more significant? if i had cleaned my bathroom, it wouldn't have made my day any better. i'm gonna do it tomorrow, but it's just not that big a deal. eh. whatever. most of my friends in vegas are very busy people. they're constantly telling what they were able to accomplish, and i feel like a lazy bum for saying, "oh, I read for three hours." I always get comments like, "I don't have time to read."

I do.

and i have time to watch tv. and relax. and enjoy myself. i'm going to try and stop feeling guilty for doing things that i enjoy. i don't enjoy being outside in the heat. that includes hiking, biking, running, rock climbing or any of the other "outdoorsy" things that vegas is all about. i would much rather watch Coming to America on comedy central for the 25th time then go climb up a mountain and see a valley. sorry. not interested.

i hate living here.

on a lighter note, i just turned on my tv and started watching Coming to America, and sadly, the song that jumped into my head was not one by neil diamond, but one from The Lion King . specifically, the version of "Circle of Life" from the beginning...

ah! sevenya mommomeeee see wa wa
enya yay. enya yay
ah! sevenya momomeneeee see wa woah
enya yay enya yay.

(that's my own, personal, interpretation of the words at the beginning) jealous?

here's a fun story to end this post: at the end of the swahili part, there's a refrain that goes something along the lines of "he menyama he menyamabana; he menyama he menyama bana." in junior high, two of my friends interpreted those lines as "pink pajamas, penguins on the bottom; pink pajamas penguins on the bottom." when we were in high school, at the end of lunch every day, they would ask each other if they had anything in their teeth. BUT, instead of just saying "hey, is there anything in my teeth?" they had a code: "pink pajamas penguins on the top?" which meant "is there anything in my teeth?" if they were clear, the other would respond by saying "pink pajamas penguins on the bottom."

next time you hear that song from The Lion King, try NOT to hear "pink pajamas penguins on the bottom."

and I realize that this post will be dated for Saturday, August 15, but i haven't gone to bed yet, so in my world, it is still friday. it'll look like i skipped a day and posted twice on saturday, but don't believe it. the calendar lies.

this is august 14. day 3

flirting.

it's lately come to my attention that i can't tell when someone is flirting with me. here's the episode that threw this fact into stark relief:

i was in detroit at a friend's wedding, and after the reception, we all headed back to the hotel, where one of the groomsmen was having an "after party" of sorts in his hotel room. I went and hung out for a few hours, but around 3am i really had to leave because i was getting tired, i could feel headache coming on, and i needed to get up at a semi-decent hour to go to a baseball game the next day. i said my goodbyes to everyone who was there: the bride's parents, the groom (the bride had fallen asleep the minute she got out of her dress), a couple groomsmen, and some other people i never quite figured out. as i'm walking down the hall toward the elevators, i hear someone behind me call out,

"hey."

I turn around and see chris, one of the groomsmen walking toward me. we exchanged some pleasantries, i'm sure (i don't really remember) and at some point he says to me, "come hang out in my room."

because i'm a complete and utter moron, i respond by saying, "dude (i actually called him dude), i can't. i'm so tired and i can feel the hangover just creeping into my forehead. but i'll see you at the game tomorrow, right?"

i noticed that he had kind of a weird look on his face as i stepped into the elevator, but i didn't give it much thought.

until the elevator doors shut.

and i realized that i am a moron.

when the doors shut, i honestly said, out lout, in the elvator, "fuck... that's what that was."

yes, boys and girls. he was hitting on me. and he was pretty cute. and how did i respond? by calling him DUDE. the only way it could have been worse is if i had given him a finger gun and a saucy wink. thankfully, i did not do that.

this, sadly, is one of many episodes where someone was flirting with me and i was oblivious to it. it also fulfilled a sneaking suspicion i'd been having lately that i can't tell when people are flirting with me.

a few weeks before the wedding, something similar had happened when i was shopping with my mom. we wandered into a shoe store, sharing a pretzel, and an employee greeted us an struck up a conversation about the awesomeness of autie anne's pretzels. as we left the store, my mom looked at me and said, "you know he was flirting with you."

oblivious old me just responded by saying "he's in customer service. he has to be polite to customers."

with our family's ever-present sarcasm, she responds by saying, "yes, but i've never seen an employee haul ass across a store to talk about pretzels. and he wasn't excited to talk to me."

huh.

is it possible the shoe store guy was flirting with me?

i told my friend adriane both of these stories, and she chose to inform me that when we worked at a hotel together four years ago, guests would often flirt with me and i would respond with something along the lines of, "here's your key; breakfast is from 7-10; enjoy your stay!" she thought i was uninterested because i was going to be moving in a few months. i just had no clue.

when i told my friend caroine, she decided that from now on when someone is flirting with me, the code word will be "hippopotamus." because it's a word that frequently appears in conversation and won't draw any awkward attention to us at all.

i can't help but think this is part of the reason i'm still single at 27...

so here's to flirting. luckily for me, i get to start flirting at my advanced age, when everyone i'll be flirting with has been doing it since they were 14. not awkward. not awkward at all.

oh, and ps: chris wasn't at the ball game the next day, but he did come hang out with us the next evening. and he wouldn't make eye contact with me. because he thought i'd shot him down. *insert eye roll here*

this is august 13. day 2.

a challenge

so, this is really lame, but I recently watched the movie Julie & Julia, and unlike my friends, who wanted to go home and cook, I wanted to go home and blog. I was amazed that Amy Adams' character managed to work full time, commute from manhattan to queens, cook over 500 recipes in one year, AND blog about all of them. I realized a while ago that I have what edgar allan poe called "epic mania" in regards to my blog. he was referring to overly long epic poetry (he thought poets were too obsessed with long poetry, and they needed to embrace the fact that short poems could express the same emotion--sometimes more emotion, in my opinion), but it's the same problem for my blog. I have this subconscious feeling that my blogs have to be several pages long for it to be 'worth' the effort of typing in the URL and hitting enter.

my other problem is that I can't ever think of things to write about. blogs are funny to me. sure, it's supposed to be like a journal, but you can't get really honest--people read it. and i have to be careful about what I write. If one of my friends is annoying me, I can't write about it--they might read it. so i'm stuck trying to find things that are funny and lighthearted to write about. i don't want to be too serious, because that would be a downer, and then no one would read it. of course, if that was the case, i could be as honest as i wanted...

so, inspired by the former titular character in the movie, i'm creating a personal challenge: i'm going to update my blog every day for one month. i have to write something on it each day. for 31 days. i'm going to find something that's worth writing about each day. i'm not going to force myself to write something long--it might just be a few sentences. i'm not going to force myself to write something funny--it might be serious sometimes. but, i'm going to do it. something on my blog, every day, for one month.

today is august 12. day 1.

hate mail

heidi, adriane - i'm not sure how you did it, but i congratulate you on drawing gwen (whom you haven't met) into you "lack of blog update guilt/manipulation ring."

so i was in san diego this past weekend with the debate team. they all did really well. without going into too much detail (because it would require a very long post about debate and all it's associated rules, terms, and procedures), our team did really well. one of our debate teams got into one of the final rounds, two boys placed in two different events, and another kid got first in his event. this was a big tournament with a lot of really good schools present, so we were really excited that T.J. got first place.

i got to spend 12 hours on a bus. which is a shorter trip than the one to the state tournament last year in reno--that was nine hours. if i go to the tournament in berkeley, that'll be 11 hours. oh well.

the kids are really fun and i love getting to be a part of that team. however, because we spend so much time with these kids, we (myself and sheila, the other coach) end up learning things about them we'd rather not know. the consensus among the students is that shiela is "the mom" and i'm "the cool aunt" or "the cool older sister." i think they threw the last one in there in a hope that i'll buy them beer. of course, one student told me where he buys his alcohol because they don't card. ever. that was disappointing. two students told me about the bet they'd made about the weekend that involved one of them "scoring" while on the trip. at one point, i got a detailed lecture about which girls at our school had the best body parts, specifically buttoxes. awkward.

I'M SO EXCITED TO COME HOME FOR CHRISTMAS!

i had to miss school friday and today because of the trip, so that's a hassle to come home to.

i have a ridiculous amount of grading. in my next life, i'm going to be a p.e. teacher. or a rock star.

i really don't have anything to talk about. i'm trying to think of something (anything) witty to philosophize about. or a funny story. or any story. or anything. i'm completely spent. sorry. hopefully i'll think of something soon and i will stop getting hate mail from an ever-increasing number of sources.

however, if'n you're bored, check out this site: it's supremely entertaining.
www.graphjam.com

sorry this sucks. a lot.

birthday

i'm going to rant. be forewarned.

i don't get the hullabaloo about birthdays. i literally had nothing to do with it. i had no part of my conception, and i really didn't help with the birthing process. i realize that birthday celebrations started in the middle ages to celebrate another year of life for the child, but this was when infant mortality rates were still super high, like in the 60th percentile (I have no idea if that statistic is correct; i just made it up. but you know...92% of all statistics are made up...). today, in the U.S. at least, infant mortality rates are significantly lower. we don't need to celebrate the fact that i haven't died yet. plus, i'm now several years out of my childhood. the whole thing is just weird to me. now, i'm not going to lie, i LOVE getting presents. i like the fact that my mom comes out for the weekend and we shop, and she buys me stuff, and i get to choose where we eat every meal. the rest of it... all day long, people tell you "happy birthday" and i have yet to figure out the appropriate response to that. "thanks"? "yep"? "don't tell me; tell my parents"? i usually go with the first, but it still seems strange. what am I thanking them for? remembering that it's my birthday? they really don't have to.

and I know the deal about how birthdays are a chance to celebrate the people in your life who love you and to be happy that they're in your life, but do you need to wait until october 6th to do that? you can celebrate me being in your life any day of the year. i'll let you. it's like that line from gatsby: "Let us learn to show friendship for a man when he is alive and not after he is dead." now, i understand that the context is a little different, because in the book he's talking about how we should treat people when they die, and i'm not dead yet (ironic that i'm discussing this quote, in light of the original purpose for birthday celebrations), but the idea is still there.

i'm not anti-birthday, and I don't hate birthdays or anything. i'm not opposed to celebrating birthdays, giving and receiving birthday presents, people telling me "happy birthday," telling other people "happy birthday," going to birthday parties, having birthday parties, birthday cake, decorating for others' birthdays, or anything else having to do with birthdays.

i just don't get it. for me it's one of those funny little social customs and makes less sense than the others. i play along with it, and it's all cool. i just don't get it. so if i don't send you a "happy birthday" message on your facebook, and if i forget your birthday, please don't feel offended. i just don't remember birthdays. i'll probably remember your shoe size, what you majored in in college, what your favorite sweater was when you were 16, and what your parents do for a living, but i'll probably forget your birthday. hell, half the time i forget my birthday.

i just don't get it.

wait until you hear my rant about saying "god bless you" when someone sneezes. it's a doozy.

i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sor...

I honestly hadn't realized how long it had been since my last post (june 3!), which was my impassioned request that everyone read The Road, which is a belief i still firmly espouse.

so...summer was good. i relaxed and spent a long time in indiana, which was amazing. i loved being back there, especially since my parents now have a trampoline at their house. plus, my roommate alison came out to visit and we went to chicago for a few days. that visit just made me miss chicago A LOT. and my friend nicole got married, so i got to see most of my college girls. once i got back to vegas, i spent a lot of time reading and hanging out on my couch, which was AMAZING. call me lazy ("lazy") but i love sitting around on my couch watching tv and movies and reading.

i tried to read The Catcher in the Rye this summer, because it's on my book list, and my students always read it, but i couldn't get past page 50. i really just hate that book. everyone says i should have read it when i was younger, because it's written for 16 year olds and of course i'm going to hate it at my age. but i'm not sure i would have liked it when i was 16--the whole "i'm going to rebel because people don't treat me like an adult so i'll just show them how adult i can be" phase was never very appealing to me. i seemed like such a waste of time to waste energy on doing thingsi wasn't allowed to do when i could just wait two years and do them anyway. plus, i had a job and financial responsibilities at 16, which are two markers of adulthood. i'm not saying i was some paragon of maturity (i bought several *nsync cd's around that time), but i do think, that in some ways, i was a little more...grounded...than your average teenager. and reading back over that, i realize just how egotistical and self-centered that sounded. oh well.

speaking of *nsync, guess who has tickets to the new kids on the block concert on oct. 11?!?!?! i also purchased their new cd with very little shame. it's not the worst cd i've spent money on, but it's not great. it's a pretty solidly mediocre r&b album featuring 5 guys in their late '30s who are trying to reclaim the notoriety they had when they were in their early '20s. plus, my friend claire told me today that they're having their after party at LAX (a club here in town), and my friend lacey's sister lindsay knows someone who works at the door there, so we're thinking about going. 11-year-old me is completely insane at the idea of seeing DONNIE WHALBERG in person. of course, they'll be upstairs at a table and we'll be buried on the floor with the rest of the peasantry. i'm hoping that lacey will be able to get us to their table. one of her major talents is getting into vip areas with celebrities. (fingers crossed!)

school is going pretty well. actually, compared to last year, it's going phenominally (now officially a word). i have a new class--Modern lit Honors, and it's amazing. i love my kids in all my classes...i'm just having so much fun this year. so much better than last year. i just wanted to beat my head against a wall a lot of the time then.

i also read the twilight series, despite my fervent vows that i would never sink to such literary depths. and i loved them. i'm re-readng the last one right now, and have a bit of a mental countdown to the movie. i kind of hate myself for it. but they were good. and now i desperatly want a boyfriend. desperately. i'm not sure if that's because of the books, or if it's just time for my quarterly "desperate for a boyfriend" phase.

so i'm going to go grade papers now. or read Breaking Dawn some more. three guesses to which of those options actually happens. and there are only two options.

no wonder i don't have a boyfriend.

i'll try to be better about posting. if it gets bad again, adriane, heidi, light a fire under my ass.

and adriane, those kids ARE getting one hell of an education. (we have an amazing science department...)

The Road, by Cormac McCarthy

this is not going to be an amusing post, but it will be serious and heartfelt, which is a departure for me.

I just finished reading The Road by Cormac McCarthy, which I started reading this morning. I couldn't stop reading it.

It is, without a doubt one of the best books I've read in the last few years, and easily in my top ten books of all time. I started reading it this morning during one of my finals, and I had to put it down because I started crying on page 55 and was still crying when I got to page 63. I decided that quietly weeping was probably a distraction to my students who were trying to take their final exam. When I got home from work today, I sat down and didn't stop until I'd finished the entire thing. By the end, I was weeping so hard I couldn't get my breath and I had tears (mixed with mascara) pouring down my face. I have never been affected so strongly by a book, which is saying something (I read a lot of books). I cried on and off for the next hour, and I had to stop talking to my roommate about it, because I got choked up whenever I tried. I tried to read the back cover to her, and barely got through it. It is amazing. I don't know if I have the words to describe how powerful and moving it is. It's at once agonizing and beautiful, hopeless and utterly hopeful. It's the most terrifying thing in the world, but also infinitely soothing and reassuring.

Read it.

Here's the quote from the back cover:
A father and son walk alone through burned America. Nothing moves in the ravaged landscape save the ash on the wind. It is cold enough to crack stones, and when the snow falls it is gray. the sky is dark. Their destination is the coast, although they don't know what, if anything, awaits them there. they have nothing: just a pistol to defend themselves against the lawless bands that stalk the road, the clothes they are wearing, a cart of scavenged food--and each other. is the profoundly moving story of a journey. It boldly imagines a future in which no hope remains, but in which the father and his son, "each the other's world entire," are sustained by love.

Read it.

Here's the passage on page 55 that initiated my tears:
No lists of things to be done. They providential to itself. The hour. There is no later. This is later. All things of grace and beauty such that one holds them to one's heart have a common provenance in pain. Their birth in grief and ashes. So, he whispered to the sleeping boy. I have you.

Read it.

Please don't ask me what's so great about it--I'm not sure I can say why. I just know that I cried like I haven't since I read The Island of the Blue Dolphins in 5th grade, after I finished I was so exhausted the only thing I could do was watch the palm tree in the back yard swaying in the wind, and I still have a headache from the rush of emotions I experienced in (especially) the last 20 pages.

Read it.

To quote The New York Times, "[It] offers nothing in the way of escape or comfort." Be forewarned. After school today I stopped by my friend Pat's room to talk about the book. Pat's retiring this year, which means she's been teaching for at least 30 years, and she's read EVERYTHING. She's an English teacher, but her brain is reserved for AP and high honors classes. She teaches and challenges the best students in our school (who are intimidatingly smart, and by which I mean they're in MENSA). Pat doesn't get very impressed about literature. When I mentioned this book to her (I knew she'd read it), she gushed. Pat doesn't gush. I've never seen her speak so passionately about a piece of literature. She always speaks academically about books, and with this one, she spoke emotionally. That only bolstered my reaction to it.

Read it.

Be emotionally prepared for it, because it will put your emotions through the ringer. I don't want to say anything more, because I don't want to cheapen the experience I had with this novel with too many words. I hope you read it. I hope it impacts you like it did me. If you read it, and if it impacts you, give me a call or send me an email. I'd love to talk to you about it.

Read it.

is it really that easy?

have you seen the commercial for taco bell with the bacon club chalupa?

it starts out with two women out at the bar (ostensibly trying to pick up guys) and one woman shows the other woman that she has a bacon club chalupa in her purse. woman #2 says something along the lines of "why do you have that in your purse?" and women #1 replies "guys love bacon." then, there are three pretty attractive guys at their table trying to talk to them. is it that easy? alison and i were watching TV and when i saw that i told alison i'd carry bacon on me at all time. she said she would too, which is even funnier because she's a vegetarian.

that let to a conversation about bacon undergarments, including a bacon bra, which i termed a "bracon" (prounounced 'brah-con'). i also talked about bacon undergarments (a b-string).

this is how i'll find my future husband i guess.

i wonder if any specific brand works better than others.

i'm hot as hell, and i'm not going to take it anymore

it's 90 degrees out today. IN APRIL.

someone is pissed.

(she has red hair)

however, alison and i refuse to turn on the A/C because it's gonna get cooler tomorrow ("cooler" being the mid 70's) and we'll be okay then.

five p.m. is the worst TV hour on my tv. only when i'm downstairs. upstairs, I get abc family and I can watch gilmore girls, but we don't get gilmore girls downstairs (we've sacrificed to have BBC america--totally worth it).

i don't really have anything to say, but i hadn't updated in a while, and i was feeling guilty. let's see...i need to write a test tonight for In Cold Blood, but it's too hot. i just want to sit in front of the tv watching "The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air" because it's the only thing on and i'm too hot to morv, let alone think. actually, i'm not that hot, but it's a good excuse to avoid writing a test. I HATE WRITING TESTS with every last fiber of my being.

Will smith is currently wearing a neon yellow sweatsuit--the kind with the swishy material and the matching jacket that were cool in the 90's and which one still sees on grandmothers at the grocery store on tuesday mornings.

just saw the credits--i had forgotten that they were spray painted to look like grafitti on the screen. I miss the 90's. there have been few decades that were as tacky. don't get me wrong, the 70's and 80's were pretty bad, but they were tacky in an ironic sort of way. the 90's were just tacky. with no irony. which makes them awesome, because you can just revel in the tack.

now, this is the story all about how
my life got twist-turned upside down
and i'd like to take a minute (just sit right there)
i'll tell you how i became the prince of a town called bel-air

in west philadelphia, born and raised
on the playground is where i spent most of my days
chillin' out max and relaxin' on cool and all shootin' some b-ball outside of the school (skool)
'til a couple of guys, they were up to no good
started makin' trouble in my neighborhood.
i got in one little fight and my mom got scared and said
"you're moving with your auntie and uncle in bel-air"

i whistled for a cab and when it came near, the license plate said "fresh" and it had dice in the mirror
if anything, i could say that this cab was rare, but i though "nah, forget it"
"yo homes--to bel-air"

i pulled up to the house about 7 or 8 and i yelled to the cabbie
"yo homes, smell ya later"
i looked at my kingdom, i was finally there
to sit on my throne as the prince of bel air

a few thoughts on the lyrics to that song:

1. why does he decide to "forget" about saying that the "cab was rare"? does it really take so much time to say "hey, that cab is rare." what does he mean by rare? not cooked for very long? unique? and what are the odds that the license plate said "fresh"?

2. why does it matter what time he pulled up the house? he never told us what time he left philly, so it's not like he's trying to gain sympathy for his arduous journey. there's also a pretty big gap of time between 7 and 8. 60 minutes to be exact. i can see saying, "i pulled up around 7." but not saying "i pulled up sometime in the 60 minutes between 7 and 8." also, am or pm? is that significant?

3. how does one "relax on cool"? possibilities: sitting on an ice sculpture, laying on a bed with sheets that say "cool," doing a drug called cool which causes one to relax (which means the drug is a depressant or barbiturate)...i'm sure there are more.

4. bel-air is not a monarchy. since it's part of the U.S., it's a democratic republic, like the rest of the country, so he can't be the prince of it. at least, not without a coup of some sort.

someone is an english teacher and reads way too much into EVERYTHING. (sorry heidi and adriane, i stole your thunder.)

i'm gonna stop wasting your time now and go cook dinner, which may end up being cereal because i'm too hot to cook.

bugger.

bloggity blog blog blog

my friend gwen told me that my blogs are too long and she doesn't like to read them, and all this time i'd been feeling inferior because my blogs were so short, which is part of why i don't update very often--i feel like i have to make it 3 pages long for it to be worth anything (it's the english major in me). since i have to make it so long, i get a little bit of blog anxiety (a new disorder I just invented) and true to my "fight or flight" tendency (flight), I don't do it.

did that make any sense? if not, read it again.

i don't want to teach...i just want to lay in my bed all day...
i don't want to grade...i just want to watch my tv all day.

welcome to 4th quarter, ladies and gentlemen. couple general 4th quarter apathy with the impressively low academic abilities of my students, and it's pretty clear why I don't want to look at the crap they turn in to me.

we're reading In Cold Blood by truman capote in my modern lit class, which i was really excited about--i really thought it was something they'd enjoy and would get into, but most of them aren't reading it. it's pretty depressing. the funny part is that they're all going on sparknotes, which i've looked at, and they're really terrible for this book. which means they're all failing my quizzes. which makes the sadistic part of me really happy. vengeful? never.

today was staff development, and at the end of they day, the committee had kind of a "showcase" of student work. we saw roller coasters built by the physics classes, drawings by art students, a song and a dance from spanish, a dramatic speech from the speech and debate team, and an impromptu debate, from the same team. their debate was about whether or not teachers should be randomly drug tested, and one of the students quoted the rap lyric "smoke all night / drink all day / that to me is the american way." it was a pretty big hit. the kid who was arguing for drug testing prefaced his speech with a request that his teachers not lower his grades because of it. it was really cool.

then, we went into the cafeteria for performances from the choir and polynesian club. the other four groups that went took about 30 minutes total. the last two groups took 40. the choir sang five (count 'em!) songs, and the polynesian club did three dances. now, i'm okay with these groups performing, but it was not a choir concert--one song would have done nicely to show us what they were capable of.

however, the boys in the choir wore sparkly silver vests. i'm fairly certain a male person DID NOT pick out those costumes.


On a different note, alison and I have been eating amazingly well lately. friday, i made indian food with fake chicken and broccoli and lime-coconut rice. and then last night, alison made fake ribs and corn on the cob and i made some mashed potatoes. then tonight, i made baked potatoes... mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. we're also addicted to strawberries, which I guess are in season out here. we invented something amazing on friday night: strawberry boats. take a giant strawberry, cut it in half, and then put about four inches of whipped cream on it. if you get whipped cream on your nose, you have enough whipped cream. today, we had strawberries, but with just splenda on them, because strawberry boats are something than can only be enjoyed on special occasions.

friday night was a special occasion, because we watched several episode of alias, to which i've gotten alison completely addicted. we try to watch at least two episodes a night. tonight we got three in. we were talking about how much we love alias and we decided that the night we only get through two episodes would be a truly sad night. hopefully that day will never come.

this is long, rambling, and ultimately pretty pointless. and not very funny, all of which i apologize for. i just couldn't think of anything funny.

oooohh! here's something funny: this morning, we were in a staff meeting and alison was sitting next to me, which is never a good idea. someone's address came on the projector screen and it was meteorite circle. i turned to alison and said "i totally want to live on meteorite circle!" alison's response: "It's out of this world."

we literally were laughing so hard (for no reason, because it wasn't that funny) the principal noticed and started giving us mock-dirty looks. he knew how boring it was, so he wasn't really mad, but i think he was mostly confused because NOTHING funny had happened in the last several minutes.

my principal thinks i'm a huge loser most of the time. at least he knows who i am.

almost bedtime (the happiest part of my day!)

scott baio is 46 and trying to kill me...

...which is what a dreamt last night.

this past weekend, i was in reno with my school's debate team (called the forensics team for the duration of this post) for the state tournament, because i'm the forensics lackey (bitch) who goes on the out-of-town trips as the extra chaperon.

in my dream, i was back at the tournament, but it was in beverly hills, not reno, and we were staying at a really fancy hotel. i was in my hotel room, when all of a sudden, this guy jumps out of a closet or somewhere and starts trying to kill me with a telephone cord (he was trying to strangle me with it). apparently, this had happened before, because i wasn't surprised that someone was trying to strangle me--however, i was surprised that it was scott baio. i remember thinking to myself, "That's who's been trying to kill me all this time! He must've forgotten to wear a mask this time. I guess he's trying to kill me because he asked me out and I refused him."

Anyway, I escaped, and ran down to the lobby of the fancy hotel and told the person at the desk that scott baio was trying to kill me, but by the time the police got upstairs, he had escaped. I went back to my room, where he tried to kill me again. I beat him up this time, and then carried his unconscious body down to the lobby, and i made sure to hit his head on every corner i went around. I stopped a few times to talk to students and show them his body that i had beaten up and knocked unconscious.

he must have escaped again when i got him downstairs, because later, i was on the bus with the students, he showed up again, still trying to kill me (he's persistent, i'll give him that). this time, I knew i had to jump off the bus, along with everyone else (we were evacuating). I walk to the front of the bus, and the driver has the door cracked a bit. I remember thinking to myself, "wow, this is going to be difficult. i hope i don't fall." I was extra worried about falling because i was wearing four-inch heels, which are hard to walk in, let alone jump from a moving bus.

I jumped out of the bus, which turned out to be the easiest thing ever. I landed easily on my four-inch heels, and started walking with one of my students, who, in my dream, was a journalist interviewing me about my encounters with scott baio. we walked along for a while, then we realized that we really should be walking with some of the guys, in case someone tried to attack us (someone like scott baio).

we found some other students and started walking with them until we found a restaurant to go to, right in the middle of a swanky beverly hills neighborhood. we went inside and it was kind of like a fancy denney's (if such a thing exists) and then i woke up.


why scott baio?

here's a great story about the idiot students at my school:

today, my student aide told me about one of her fellow dance team members: apparently, this girl was standing in front of the mirror and said, out loud, in front of the entire team: "so i don't get how you do one lap dance and all of a sudden you're a slut"

this is what i deal with every day.

i have a dream...

or, to be grammatically correct, i HAD one. and i'm blogging about it just for alison.

alison has this friend tony...well, she actually has two friends named tony: tall tony (or "big" tony) and tatoo tony. i think you can figure out why i call them that.

tatoo tony is a bit of a rock star. he plays bass in the band for rock star karaoke, and he's very cool; like the cool kids in high school movies. i've met him a few times at various karaoke sessions and a party--he's a really nice guy, but very intimidating (see the abovementioned coolness).

in my dream, alison and i were at a party at tony's house. in my dream, i knew that he had a party every tuesday, and he called it "industry tuesday." so alison and i are there, but the house feels like a college appartment (think brown house, manchester alum)--mismatched couches, crappy wallpaper, and a kitchen that hasn't been cleaned since before prince charles grew into his ears...er...bad analogy. but you get what i mean.

we're hanging out at the party, and i decide to get some food. i wander into the kitchen, and there is a card table with food on it. the food for the party consists of baby carrots, tortilla chips, some pieces of montery-jack cheese, and something else random that i can't really remember. these four things are all in the same bowl, but piled in different areas so they're not mixed together. like a relish tray, without the different sections. needless to say, i didn't eat anything in my dream.

i wander back out to the living room and sit down to talk with tony and alison, but then, there are trick-or-treaters at the door (suddenly) but we have no candy. so alison and i walk outside where we have a conversation with one of my old students and a girl i went to college with (alicia south) about what kind of candy to get for the trick-or-treaters. once we've decided (i don't remember our decision) we had to khols to buy candy. because that's where i fulfill all of my candy needs. khols. we get there, but the khols is more like t.j.maxx and my friend caroline from work is working there for a part time job. i remember feeling superior in my dream that she was working at khols and i was working part time at lane bryant. so much more sophisticated.

after that, we headed back to tony's house (without any candy) and when we get there, we have a conversation about how it's a school night and we have to leave by 10. then suddenly it's the next morning, and i get out of bed (my bed, in my bedroom, which has suddenly moved itself to tony's house) and walk downstairs in sweats and a fleece sweatshirt, barefoot, to get some breakfast, alison and tony are down there, and the floor is dirty (wild party), and they tell me that's it's hot outside, and i'm glad that i don't have to wear my fleece sweatshirt ever again, and i express this joy by saying "now i never have to wear this shirt again." but i don't take it off. logic has no place in my dreams.

i think i woke up sometime after that. regardless, i can't remember what happened after that, so it doesn't really matter.

i went and saw The Other Boleyn Girl tonight with alison and our friend amy. amy kept getting frustrated because she's read the book and apparently, the film is quite different (shock). i kept getting frustrated because it's historical fiction, and so there are parts that were historically inaccurate. which is why it's labeled "historical fiction" instead of "historical." issue number 1: eric bana cast as henry. now, eric bana is h-o-t-t hott. there's a scene where he takes his shirt off...alison and i were happy. but he's a fairly dark complexioned man. with dark brown hair. henry VIII was quite fair skinned, and ruddy cheeked, and had strawberry blonde hair. grrr... but eric bana...HOT!

i'm going to go fold my clean underwear (people think i'm weird for folding my underwear, but it fits better in the drawer that way. thanks mom for making me a freak) and go to bed.

funny story: i don't have any lesson plans for tomorrow!

well, oprah has proved what i always suspected...

...that i'm a genius. dr. oz was on and one person asked if left handed people were smarter than right handed people. i started listening at that point, because i've been looking for proof that i'm extra intelligent since i was very young. dr. oz's response had something to do with the amount of testosterone in the womb when the baby is still in utero (i'm a little fuzzy on the science) and basically, the right side of the brain develops more in left-handed people than usual (usual being right-handed people). according to dr. oz, lefties aren't necessarily smarter, but since our right brain is more developed, we're able to switch back and forth between the two sides of our brains more easily and more quickly. this means we're able to process more different types of information more quickly, so it seems like we're smarter. but i think that was just dr. oz's "polite" answer so he wouldn't offend all the right-handed people in the world. plus, i think he's right handed, so of course he's not going to really tell the truth, which is that the secrets and knowledge of the universe are located in the right side of the brain, and since our left hands work so much more than other peoples', the right brain gets "joggled loose" and all that comes spilling into our consciousness.

my roommate (who's right handed, by the way) thinks that's all ridiculous and that dr. oz is full of it. but that's what i would say too if i'd just found out that i wasn't as smart as me.

we just got done watching supernanny (which is like t.v. crystal meth) and the people were in las vegas, which was cool. speaking of terrible parents, the overbearing honors parent who had been emailing me several times a week about her students has finally stopped. After I'd gotten about four emails in one day i responded and mentioned that one of our goals as a school is for students to learn responsibility, and that it might be better if she had her students (yes, i get to have both of her children) come talk to me personally, instead of using her as an intermediary. and i understand that she's just trying to do right by her kids, and that they probably asked her to contact me, but it was still really annoying. anyway, her daughter came in to talk to me about her grade. i was happy. however, i do know that her daughter and two of her friends (who all have me the same period) talk shit about me during dance class, because my student aide is also in dance and she tells me. i hate two-faced-ness. (new word. double points.)

what else what else what else... i have to give two finals next week, and i haven't written either one. yay!

today, one of my american lit honors students asked if we were going to review for the final exam. i said, "yeah. open your book to the table of contents, find the titles that look familiar and review them. study your notes." i heard a little voice from the back of the classroom say, "i don't have notes." i stopped, looked at them and responded: "that's what we call learning from your mistakes." now before you start cursing me in your head for being cruel and uncaring, i want you to understand that these are juniors in high school, and honors students at that. i know that they learn how to take notes in their first two years of english classes. the fact that they usually don't pull out their notebooks unless i actually tell them to is pathetic. they should know by now that if i'm talking about a story, poem, author, or whatever else, they should be taking notes on it, because it will most likely be on a test. when we read the crucible, most of them didn't take notes at all during the entire play. then they had nothing to study, and most of them failed the test. THEY STILL DIDN'T LEARN THEIR LESSON! this is what i mean when i say my juniors are dumb this year. they just don't get it. and they want everything spoon fed to them. at least my 7th period has personality and interacts with me. my 2nd period just stares at me like dead fish. they're doorknobs, to use caroline's phrase. or feedbags, to use sean's.

it's 10:30 on a school night and i'm up (late) updating my blog.

do you see what you people do to me? :)

"you've got a baby...in a bar..."

once again, i'm blogging because heidi yelled at me for being the worst blogger ever. a moniker i sadly accept. apparently, i respond really well to people being angry at me--it's pretty motivating. this isn't shocking considering how i used to collapse into a sobbing mess whenever my mom would speak to me in any slightly angry tone when i was little. this, of course, in contrast to my brother michael who was amazingly stubborn and would continue doing something after yelling, spanking, time-out, and threats of bodily dismemberment. but i digress...

a few weeks ago, alison (my roommate) and i went to our local pub to get some dinner. previously, it had been our favorite pub because they sold our favorite drink, Magner's cider. well, they stopped selling it, because we were the only people who bought it, and two drinks every three weeks, wasn't lucrative, oddly enough. another reason we liked it was because our favorite bartender, ed, worked there. at least we thought the "work" was a past tense verb. it's also a place to get irish food, which we both love. when we got there, to our surprise, ed was working! we thought he'd quit, because we hadn't seen him in months and there he was! anyway, as we sat down at the bar to have dinner and talk to ed, i happened to look over and realized i saw a very small person at the end of the bar.

by "small person" i don't mean "little person." i mean "infant." of course i pointed it out to alison so we could mock that person's lack of responsibility and the fact that they were about as qualified to rear children as britney spears. i quoted sweet home alabama by telling alison that someone had a "baby...in a bar..."

a couple seconds later, the person holding the baby turned around and we realized it was someone we knew. a fellow teacher, to be exact. a fellow teacher who'd used to work at our school. welcome to las vegas, ladies and gentlemen.

i had never worked with her, because she moved to a different school before i came there, but i had met her when i helped to chaperone a field trip for the debate team, as she's the debate coach at another area high school. she saw us and started walking over to us, which meant alison and i had to curb all the sarcastic and critical comments that were vigorously fighting their way out of our mouths. we weren't able to look at each other very closely while we talked to her.

i also met her husband. and i thought "he looks like the kind of guy who's baby would be in a bar." he was wearing a bright yellow pull-over windbreaker. the kind you buy at the gap in a little nylon bag. the kind you wear when it rains. have i mentioned i live in the desert? yeah. classy.

after we talked to her and then mocked her (after her departure), we started talking to ed, who was incredibly cruel to me (along with alison) for he duration of our visit. at one point, he gave me a sample of some kind of beer, which i didn't care for. i told him i thought it tasted bland. he proceeded to pour me a pint of water and told me that "if i thought that beer was mild, i might like this new 'lake mead brew.'" alison laughed, because she's a sadist.


Today was my first day back at school. i was NOT excited to get up at 5am or put on dress clothes or go to school. and i'm not going to lie: my students are not smart this year. I found out a couple weeks ago that one of the junior english teachers told his students to take modern lit (the senior english class that i teach) because it was really easy. it's not. so, now i have a bunch of classes full of angry, lazy boys who are pissed that my class isn't easy. and, the thermostat in my room is broken, so it's really hot in there and by the end of the day my classroom is really hot and smells like stinky boys. ugh.

let's see... here's why i'm so bad about blogging: nothing exciting happens in my life. people think that my life is exciting and sexy because i live in las vegas, but it's not. think about your high school english teacher. you think his/her life was sexy? no, of course you don't, because teachers don't have sexy lives. well, some do, but they don't stay teachers for very long... but my life is as boring as any other english teacher. i go to work, try to get kids excited about appositives, colons, the scarlet letter, and brave new world, fail miserably, go home, watch friends reruns, eat dinner, grade some papers and go to bed. i do it again the next day. sometimes, funny things happen. the first year they were really funny, but the kids say the same things each year, and they're less funny each time. so it goes.

that being said, one of my favorite quotes from the year so far: "you know, a one night stand lasts one night, but syphilis lasts a lifetime." it was funny, but i found out from my friend jen that syphilis is curable with penicillin. however, genital warts does last a lifetime.

i've had a headache for about three days. stupid stress headaches. stupid lack of caffeine.

i think that might be all she wrote. my students don't enjoy learning how to do research. guess what i get to teach tomorrow? guess how many papers i've graded tonight? guess who might be going to bed at 8:30?

i'll try to do this more often. heidi, adriane, keep yelling at me. mom, you can try, but i think i'm immune to your yelling. i heard it too much in jr. high (don't get me wrong, i totally deserved it.)

and the award for most eventful friday morning goes to....

me. me me me me. we'll begin the story thursday evening...

we had friday off because it was nevada day, so several of us decided to go out and celebrate the fact that we didn't have to be up at 5am. (hooray!) we went to a bar on the strip called blondie's, because they have beer pong tables. i rode down with my friend mike, because i didn't want to drive, and he lives on this side of town. we get down there and realize that on thursdays they have a beer pong tournament, which mike and our other friend sam promptly entered. caroline, lacey, and i sat and played cheerleader for the evening. i figured it was not a big deal that mike (my sober driver) was in the tournament, because i figured he'd lose early and we'd be fine. he didn't lose. until the last game. which came after about 10 other games. and as many of you know, when one plays beer pong, one imbibes a large amount of alcohol in a short amount of time. like my friend mike. luckily, i hadn't been drinking that night, so i was fine to drive his car home. i wasn't about to let him drive, and i certainly wasn't going to take a $70 cab ride from the strip to my house. i decided that since i had stayed sober, i got to decide where i slept that night, and my bed sounded more comfy than mike's couch, so i decided to drive us to my house so he could sleep on my couch.

mike was drunkity drunk drunk drunk. past the point of being funny and squarely into annoying and ridiculous territory. he passed out in the car on he way home--i was afraid he wouldn't wake up. so we get to my house, and i have to lead him in by the hand, because he can't walk. i put him on the couch, give him a bucket, show him the bathroom, and go to bed. the next morning, i get up, my roommate alison and i make fun of him and the morning gets off to a fairly pleasant start. we're sitting watching tv, and mike says he's ready to leave and i get his keys out of their hiding spot (i was afraid he'd find them in the middle of the night and try to drive home) and he puts on his shoes. and then he says something strange: "this is where it gets embarassing..." i kind of look at him, because in my mind, stumbling out of the casino and passing out in the car were embarrassing enough. here's what he says to me (and this is a direct quote)

"last night, in my drunkenness...i pissed myself."

this is the point where i remember that he was lying on my roommate's (very expensive) couch when the pissing occurred. he quickly explains that he'll dry clean the cover, and proceeds to take it off and leave the house. alison (my roommate) and i both buy different kinds of urine cleaner (marketed for people with pets, but appropriate for people with drunk friends) to spray down the cushion, thus eliminating all traces of urine (hopefully) from it.

the cover has been dry-cleaned, the cushion has been sprayed down, and that particular section of couch has been moved to the far end where we never sit. we've also christened it "the pee cushion."

there's a moral to this story: if your friend is super drunk and there's a possibility they might pee their pants, don't let them sleep on your couch. or anything else with fabric. the garage floor might be a nice option. or just put plastic down. or newspaper. like with puppies.

before that (unpleasant) turn of events, there had been a really high point to the evening: my friend lacey had been talking to a british guy, and by the end of the evening, i was sitting at a table with five british guys, and they loved me. i kept calling them english, but then the scottish guy would get mad, because he wasn't english. they were members of the royal air force, in town to pick up some "equipment" (alien spaceship) from nellis air force base (area 51). it was really fun. caroline said that when she left, she looked up and saw me at a table with five guys just hanging on my every word. i enjoyed it.

adriane, i'm sorry. i'll try to be better. you have learned, however, that death threats are excellent motivation.